


Coming Down Is the Hardest Part

by padawanhilary, Telesilla



Series: Long Long Road [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Domestic, M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanhilary/pseuds/padawanhilary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets hurt on the job and Rodney’s not very happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Down Is the Hardest Part

_April, 1987_

 

The clown who opened his door right in John's path insisted on taking him to the ER. And fine, John was a little woozy and he thought might have a cracked rib or two, but it really wasn't that bad. It bothered him more that he was a mess; grimy from landing in the big puddle the guy's Caddy was parked in.

 _And why is it always Cadillacs?_ he wondered as the guy assured the admitting nurse that he'll pay, here's his Amex.... _Seriously, only fucking tools drive Caddys._

After he'd been checked in, the guy gave him a business card and then took off. Stuffing the card in his pocket, John called in and arranged for someone to come by and get the document John had been taking over to the Hancock Building. And then, he took a deep breath and called home. Rodney's schedule would have him home long before John was through here and there would be hell to pay if John didn't let him know what was up.

"Hey," he said to the machine. "I'm in the ER over at Mass General. Some fuckhead opened his door right into me. I'm _okay_ , really; you don't need to worry about me. I just don't know when I'll make it home." He paused and then, before he ran out of time, added, "I'll be _fine._."

Rodney did, of course, freak out. He _absolutely_ worried, and the second he got the machine he was putting his jacket back on and heading out.

"'I'll be fine,'" he mimicked, his irritation masking deep anxiety as he threw caution and twenty bucks to the wind to cab it to the hospital. "'You don't need to worry about me.' Who does he think he's talking to, anyway?"

By the time the doctor was done with him, John was feeling pretty good. It turned out that while he didn't have a concussion, he was right about the ribs. At least, he thought as he took the prescription for pain pills from the nurse, they'd cleaned his chest before wrapping him up. He still felt pretty grungy though and he really wished he could take a shower. _A careful bath isn't going to cut it._

He wasn't all that surprised to see Rodney sitting in the waiting room, one of his notepads in hand. He was bent over it, scribbling something, and for one moment, John gave serious thought to trying to sneak out. This really wasn't a conversation--or knowing Rodney, a _series_ of conversations--he wanted to have.

"Hey," he said.

Rodney's head snapped up. "Oh, thank God," he muttered, all but leaping out of the chair, and he went to wrap his arms around John without even thinking of the complicated equations he'd just been buried in. "You scared the fuck out of me," he groaned into John's neck, giving him a couple of manly pats to maybe ameliorate the intensity of the hold.

Glad they'd given him a shot of something pretty nice, John leaned against Rodney. "Hey," he said, not caring that people are looking at them. "Hey, it's okay. I'm...I'm gonna be okay. Really." In spite of his words, though, he clung to Rodney, suddenly aware of how scared he'd been when he'd had to make the split second decision between slamming into the car door or swerving into traffic.

"It's...it's okay," he said again, feeling stupid and slow. "Sorry...kinda stoned here."

"Damn, John--it's okay, it's fine. Are you sure you need to be up and moving around? What happened?" Rodney did know, though, that even if he thought John should sit down, there was no way he was going to put up with sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. He wrapped an arm tight around John's waist and led him out to where they could catch another cab.

"Some fucking asshole opened his door without looking," John said, shivering a little as the cold air hit him. "I couldn't swerve, there was traffic. So I hit it and went down." He shrugged a little. "I've got a couple of cracked ribs and a bunch of bruises. But they gave me the good drugs so I'm okay."

"And what for doctor's orders? Bed rest? Oh not like _that_ ," Rodney blurted impatiently at the look John was giving him. "I mean--you're really okay to go home?" He couldn't help it, this had scared the shit out of him. It crossed his mind to add that sometimes he really did hate that goddamned bike, but that wasn't exactly helpful to the situation--and never let it be said Rodney couldn't learn, albeit slowly, to not spit out the first thing that popped into his head. _Especially_ when John gave him that look.

"Home's fine; I didn't sneak out or anything." John thought about not mentioning his prescription, but no, if he did that and Rodney found out about it, he’d be in even more trouble. "I've got a prescription for pain pills and I'll need to make a follow-up appointment, but other than that I'm just going to be kind of uncomfortable for a little while."

Once they reached the curb, getting a cab was easy and, once Rodney had given their address, John leaned against him and sighed. "Worst thing is, no shower until the wrapping comes off."

"Oh, tell me you don't like that part," Rodney smirked, mainly to cover how rattled he was by the whole thing. "Bed rest _and_ sponge baths? Do _not_ start doing this on purpose." At that, he fell silent, mouth closed tight. Yeah, maybe sometimes he really did need to learn to quit spouting off at the mouth; that thought was ridiculous and not so very funny.

While John had been prepared for any number of complaints, this wasn't one of them and he sighed. It was typical of Rodney to come up with something unexpected to bitch about.

"Oh shit," he said, rolling his eyes. "You found me out."

"Okay--look, I was kidding," Rodney countered, but the tension in his voice was bound to make it harder for John to buy that. "It was a lousy joke, I know." That last came out a low mutter, and he followed it with a sigh. "Scared the fuck out of me, John," he said again.

"I know," John said. As if Rodney had to tell him when it was written all over his face and had been since John first saw him there in the ER waiting room. "I know," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

Rodney let out an impatient sigh. "Well..." He rubbed a hand over his face, shook his head, and said, "Don't be sorry. I mean--there's nothing to be sorry for, really. I mean, it was an accident."

"Yeah," John said, although he had a feeling that he hadn't heard the end of the discussion. He leaned against Rodney and let himself drift a little for the rest of the ride home. "Oh good, home," he mumbled as the cab came to a stop. "I'm gonna need some help up."

"I know." And as Rodney helped John out of the cab and then toward the stairs, he realized John was a bigger mess than he'd thought. "You're all...gravelly and wet," he complained lightly. John had an arm draped over Rodney's shoulders, and Rodney had him around the waist, so the smell of grit and water were a little more readily apparent than he'd have liked.

"Yeah," John said, hoping he could make it up the stairs. He'd been the one to say that a walkup was fine, that it was worth what they'd save, but right about now, he'd really kill for an elevator.

"There was a big puddle," he said, sighing with relief as they reached their floor.

The weight in John's body as he struggled up the stairs really got to Rodney, and his own relief was pretty huge when they made it into their apartment. "Couch," he said immediately, and the second he had John settled there he was heading to the kitchen. "I'm going to fix you a cup of tea, okay?" he called. "And then you need a bath."

"Yeah," John said, grimacing as he tried to get comfortable on the couch. "That sounds perfect."

Once he was as comfortable as he could be, he stared at the poster on the wall--a rendering of the Milky Way Galaxy with an arrow pointing to one edge of it and the words "you are here" above the arrow. It was kind of funny and John wondered if they could get one of Earth with a "you are here" arrow pointing toward Boston.

"I'm kinda stoned," he said as Rodney came back into the room.

"I can tell," Rodney said, setting the tea down and tipping John's chin up to look into his eyes. "You have that fuzzy-eyed thing going on." He petted his hand through John's slightly grimy hair and resisted the urge to immediately go and wash up, leaning down instead to offer a gentle kiss.

"Mmmm," John murmured against Rodney's lips. "I know I said I could get home on my own, but thanks for coming to get me."

"Of course I was going to come get you--you didn't seriously think I was going to leave you there, did you? I'm not _that_ big a jerk."

"I didn't say...." John sighed. "You're not a jerk. I just...I was trying to be all stoic and that was a mistake. So I was just saying thank you for not paying attention to what I said in the message."

Rodney offered a small, chagrined smile. "Well, I guess if there's one thing you can always count on me for, it's to ignore you when you're telling me what to do." He sat close to John and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"You've just gotta be you," John said, leaning against Rodney. He felt both drowsy and still a little wired, even though the accident had been hours ago.

"Yeah," Rodney sighed and tipped his head back onto the sofa. "And being me, I have to take a minute out of my day to bitch about your job. Again." And maybe this time, John would listen, but...probably not.

Although John had really hoped to avoid this conversation, he wasn't at all surprised that Rodney had started it. "Rodney," he began and then winced at how whiny he sounded. "It's a good job; I make really good money."

"You _have_ really good money," Rodney sighed, trying not to sound whiny himself. "I mean--I'm not asking you to pay for everything, I'll keep my job, but it's just not--we live in the city, John. There's got to be something safer you can do."

"Of course you'll keep your job," John said, rolling his eyes. Rodney got paid to TA and while it wasn't not enough for a person to live off campus on, he also had really generous scholarship that helped pay his share of the bills. "It's just...look, until Dad's a little less pissed off, the trust fund is all I have. I don't want to get used to living off it."

Maybe it was the drugs or maybe it was that he really wanted Rodney to understand, but for once John felt like he might be able to find the right words. "Will you just listen? Let me try to explain this?"

Rodney had to clamp down hard on a _but_ , there. As in, _Of course I'm listening, but--_

"Okay," he sighed. "I'm listening, John."

Of course, now that he had Rodney's attention the words seemed stuck in his throat. "Um...remember how I was when we first met? That whole semester when I didn't do anything but surf and have sex with you? I could spend the rest of my life doing nothing but that and I'd be _fine_. Rich, even."

He paused and took a deep breath, a little unsure if he could explain to Rodney, with his quiet, middle class, Canadian background, what it was like to be a Sheppard of the Virginia Sheppards.

"It was all planned out for me," he said after a moment. "And even though I deviated from the plan, even if Dad decides to totally cut me off, I've still got the trust fund Mom left me. So yeah, believe me; I know I don't have to have this stupid job."

Rodney wasn't sure if that made sense to him or not. He knew it should, could tell by John's tone that this was crucial, but. There always seemed to be a "but."

"But you want it anyway--even when it's dangerous like that? I mean--John. It could've been a lot worse than it was today." He scrubbed at his hair and shook his head. "I'm trying to...does it have to be _that_ job? It can't be a nice safe pizza joint?"

Before John could think about it, could hold them back, the words slipped out. "I gave up surfing when I moved back here. I gave up my chance at _flying_. Jesus fucking Christ, Rodney, what more do you want?" And oh God, why couldn't he have kept his damn mouth shut, because this wasn't what he wanted to say, wasn't something he wanted Rodney to know.

Rodney's mouth closed at once. So this was what it came to: what John had given up. Suddenly Rodney felt ill. Worse, he felt stupid. Why hadn't he seen this at the beginning?

He stood up and turned away, throat too tight for him to try to speak around it. Great: John had managed to render Rodney McKay both speechless and idiotic.

"I'm sorry," John said, wishing he could just crawl under the sofa because Rodney looked hurt and confused, and it wasn't a good look on him. "I knew what I was doing when I moved, but I just...I can't be safe all the time. Maybe...I guess the money's an excuse, but I love the job."

"Okay, so," Rodney began, breathing a little harder, starting to pace, "right, you knew what you were doing when you moved, but now, what, I'm...you're resenting me? I can't really see how it can, you know, work both ways..." And he could hear his speech professor telling him to stop using filler words, straighten up, because this was about as far from clear communication as it got. He didn't quite see the anxiety hitting him until it was too late, and then he couldn't think of what to do. He was standing in the middle of their tiny flat, starting to hyperventilate and feeling like a shitheel because John was the one who was injured.

The drugs were wearing off, but John bit back the grunt of pain as he got up off the sofa and went over to Rodney. "No. Rodney...God, I don't resent you at all," he said, reaching out for Rodney's hands. "But...

"Look, you live inside your head, most of the time, right? You take these big intellectual risks and you push yourself as hard as you can and if anyone asked you to stop, you wouldn't know how, would you?" And, God, but this was the most John had talked about anything other than sex or math in a long time. It was so fucking hard and he kind of wanted to find that Caddy driving asshole and kick the crap out of him for putting John into this position.

Rodney shook his head, utterly confused now. "I'm--inside my head, what?" he asked. He knew dimly that it wasn't the way it sounded, that this wasn't something John was listing as a complaint, but. "I don't--okay, I think we need to stop talking, because I really need...I don't know, a paper bag or a glass of vodka or something."

Although John should have been relieved--after all, they were going to stop talking and that was a good thing--he was a little annoyed with himself at not being able to explain. "Okay," he said and hauled himself up off the sofa and headed for the kitchen. "Do you want it straight up or in cranberry juice?"

"With cranberry," Rodney began, but then he shook his head. John's words were still rattling around. He wanted to grab John and shake him, and he wanted to ask if that was really what John thought about, the stuff he'd given up. But he couldn't. He just couldn't say any more, and he couldn't lay himself out like that, not while John was still on some morphine synthetic and he himself was a couple of gasping breaths away from making himself pass out on the kitchen floor.

"Straight," he decided. "And tall."

"Okay," John said, pulling the Absolut out of the freezer. "Sit down and breathe," he called out. He'd actually kind of expected a melt down even before they started their confused conversation, so this wasn't all that big a deal. It wasn't that Rodney couldn't deal with a crisis, it was just that as soon as it was over, he tended to freak out a little.

After pouring Rodney's drink, he looked at the bottle a little wistfully and then stuffed it back in the freezer. He grabbed a root beer and joined Rodney on the couch. "You gonna be okay?"

Rodney nodded in spite of the fact that it felt, as it always did, like this would never end, that he'd never be okay. And then as soon as he felt the cold slide of vodka down his throat, he was conversely more stable. He sighed and nodded again. "Okay."

"I'm sorry," John said again, not sure what he was apologizing for this time. "I'm not...I love you, okay?" That had been hard to say at the beginning, but now it was easier. Moving carefully, he reached out and rested a hand on Rodney's neck.

"Don't drink that too fast," he warned.

"I hardly see how it can make things worse," Rodney muttered, but he didn't slam it back like he wanted to. Sighing, he leaned back into John's touch.

It took him a moment to get words together; his breathing was calming, but that didn't mean this whole mess got any easier. "I know you love me," he said, looking up, "and you have to understand that it wouldn't matter if you _were_ surfing or flying planes or working in a goddamned pizza shop. I would worry about you and need you to be safe." And maybe he had his own issues to own up to there, so he plowed on, "It's...you know, people like you, they just don't... _happen_ to people like me. The rocket scientist nerd doesn't end up with the guy who can actually fly the rockets _and_ do the math _and_ be hot while he's doing it, we're..." He laughed, though it was more uncomfortable now than bitter. "We're in different classes." What he was leaving out was the fact that if he let himself think about what John had put behind him to come here, he’d start down the road of _What if he left me_? And he definitely couldn’t do that. He’d lose his _mind_ if he did that.

By the time Rodney was done, John was staring at him in shock. Finally, after a long moment, he managed to say, "what?" because he'd heard Rodney but the words weren't making any sense.

"You...God, Rodney, don't do that; don't run yourself down like that." He moved in closer, ignoring the discomfort from his ribs and the bruises. "You're...I mean, look at it from my point of view, okay? You're the most intelligent, most brilliant, person I've ever met. You're really good looking and you make me feel better than anyone ever has. Really better, by some huge order of magnitude. I usually feel like I'm the one who's outclassed."

Rodney let out a short laugh and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. He could argue, but there wouldn't be much point. You couldn't convince someone that their own insecurities were invalid; he was walking, talking proof of that.

"Well," he decided, leaning his forehead onto John's shoulder, "we're either both really stupid or both really lucky."

"Lucky," John said, kissing Rodney's forehead. "Because you're a lot of things, but not stupid."

"Well, I guess that's true," Rodney snorted. He'd be a while wrapping his head around the idea that _John_ feels outclassed, but for the moment it didn't matter. Rodney rested his hand on John's chest and gave him a slow kiss, nothing ambitious, just a little something to show him that he appreciated all of this. Everything.

John knew the conversation wasn't, or, more accurately, that they'd have it again. Maybe someday Rodney would finally realize that he'd fallen for an adrenaline junkie, but for now, John was more than happy to table the discussion.

"Mmmmm...." he hummed into the kiss.

Rodney knew it was a bad idea, but he had to ask: "How are you feeling?" There were plenty of things, he rationalized to himself, that they could do. As long as they were careful and John didn't have to move too much...

"Grubby," John said, with a wince. "Seriously...not only did I take a fall, but I've been sweating in the rain and that's always gross."

"Want a bath, then? Or I can help you stand up in the shower."

"Can't shower...not with my ribs wrapped like this." John batted his eyelashes. "If I look really pathetic, will you help me wash up?"

"You already look pathetic," Rodney pointed out, voice dry. "Okay. You can sit on the edge of the tub, will that work?" He definitely wanted to make sure the mess kept to a minimum; changing the bed after a spongebath gone awry was _not_ how he wanted to spend his evening.

"Yeah, I think I can manage that much," John replied, equally dryly.

It was harder than he expected, but with Rodney's help, he was able to get up from the sofa. He stripped in the hall, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor, and then settled on the edge of the tub. Their apartment was kind of old and funky, but one of the advantages was that the bathroom was surprisingly large. Way back at Stanford, John had learned about Rodney's thing for bathtubs and the big clawfoot bathtub in this apartment had been one of the reasons they'd chosen it.

It couldn't possibly be comfortable, but Rodney got some water going into the tub and squirted a little shower gel into it. "You smell like street," he complained lightly, dunking a washcloth into the soapy water. "At least we can get rid of that." Starting at John's neck, he wiped gently, trying to get the grit off.

It felt weirdly comfortable, and John relaxed a little as the warm cloth moved over his skin. For someone who loved hurting John, Rodney could be oddly gentle when he needed to be. "Thanks," he murmured.

"You're welcome," Rodney said quietly. It was slow work, rinsing and dunking, trying not to get the bandages wet. Rodney took his time, though. There wasn't any point to rushing. He wanted John to be comfortable once he got into bed.

"I could get used to this," John teased, as Rodney moved to his legs. "Or I could, you know....do it for you sometime."

He was still a little hesitant about offering to do things for Rodney; they'd only been together for a little over a year and they were still trying to figure a few things out. The sadism and the masochism parts were easy, but working out the difference between dominance and Rodney's general all-purpose bossiness was proving a little more difficult for John.

Rodney glanced up in mild surprise. "Thank you," he blurted, and then backed up a little. "I mean..." He set the wash cloth into the water. "Yeah. That'd be really nice." And he pushed up on his knees to kiss John, just a soft brush of lips, nothing ambitious. For all of Rodney's all-purpose bossiness, the idea of just...getting _served_ like this was...really good and _really_ unusual.

And really, this was why John _wanted_ to do things for Rodney. You would think, if you didn't know him well, that he would expect this kind of treatment, would demand it even. Instead, he was always surprised and almost shy about it when John offered.

"Mmmm...." John hummed against Rodney's mouth. "Any time."

It was a little too easy to stay in the kiss; Rodney had to make himself pull back. "Ready to get out?" he asked, voice quiet. "I'll help you dry off and get into bed." He was feeling surprisingly clingy. The idea that someone could just open a door and put his lover completely out was really pulling a number on him.

"Yeah," John said. He didn't mind that Rodney's staying close, in fact, he was more than happy to take advantage of it. He leaned on Rodney as Rodney dried him off and then led him into the bedroom.

"Okay. Now relax." The words came out almost like an order. It would probably be a couple of days before Rodney let John do anything for himself, but at the moment, Rodney was focused on getting him situated. He settled John to the bed and then tugged the sheet up, fussing just a little over getting it straight.

"Can't do much else," John said, smiling up at Rodney. Being taken care of like this...well, he wasn't sure he'd go for it if he weren't still kinda stoned. Which reminded him....

"Oh hey, that prescription's in my wallet." John waved vaguely. "I figured we'd get it filled whenever; I can just take the stuff leftover from when I had the root canal."

"Yeah," Rodney agreed. "We'll figure that out later; I'll go have it filled when you run low." He sighed and finally just tucked himself in beside John, trying not to jostle him or get too close or steal the covers too much. This wasn't really like him, but these weren't ordinary circumstances. He wasn't used to seeing John _hurt._

"I really am sorry," John said quietly. "I...didn't mean to freak you out or scare you."

"I know you didn't," Rodney murmured, and he tucked himself as close as humanly possible. "I'm just glad you're safe and it's nothing really...you know, huge. There are jobs out there a lot more dangerous than this one, I guess."

 _-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another story about the non-canon AU boys. This was supposed to be for the washing/cleaning square on last year’s Kink Bingo card, but it’s not about that kink at all, so it kind of languished for a while. The title is from "Learning to Fly" by Tom Petty.


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